


A Good Problem to Have

by kforsyth716



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), It gets a little dark in chapter 2, Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Whump, maybe a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kforsyth716/pseuds/kforsyth716
Summary: AU Starts the moment after the end of 3x06.During his reunion with Nasha, Mac thinks about his future, either in LA or Nigeria. Unfortunately, Jack isn't around to watch his back while Mac's big brain focuses on the problem in front of him and not the one lurking in the shadows.IMPORTANT: Chapter 2 includes LOTS of explicit references to suicide/suicidal ideation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I watched last night's episode and needed a bloodier ending.

_Nasha at the end of 3x06: “Everything will be okay now.”_

 

Mac grimaced and wished he could believe Nasha. Instead, his stomach rolled when he caved into her hug, especially when the rest of his body relaxed, finally able to hold her after so many months apart and the last 48 hours of panic twisting around his muscles like vines.

Because everything wasn’t going to be okay.

He had to leave.

Not necessarily Nasha or Phoenix.

But one of them. He couldn’t have both and the part of his brain that raged against the universe for that reminded him a bit too much of a kid throwing a tantrum in a store when they’re told they had to pick one toy, not two.

It was technically a good problem to have; an amazing life in Los Angeles with his team or a wonderful life in Nigeria with Nasha. He couldn’t go wrong and yet every option felt like burning off part of his body with the expectation that he couldn’t scream as agony rampaged through his soul.

Mac burrowed his face deeper into Nasha’s hair and tightened his arms around her, wishing he could stay right here forever. Safe and happy and on his deck with peaceful quiet shielding them from the future.

“Mac?” Nasha said and the worry in her voice made Mac clench his eyes shut.

No, Nasha, stay quiet, please don’t ask...

“Mac, what’s wrong?” She said and tried to pull away from the hug but his throat tightened, tears seared his eyes, and he held on, shaking his head a little.

Nasha stayed but the tension in her body ruined the peace and Mac bit his lip to keep himself silent.

Nasha slumped against him and part of his brain frowned but the rest was so focused on holding onto this one quiet moment that Mac didn’t realize something was wrong until pain flared in the right side of his chest an instant later.

The deck slammed into his head when he fell backwards and knocked a shout out of his throat. His ears registered the sound of a gunshot too late.

Needed to take cover, he thought. But when Mac tried to move, the agony in his chest forced him to collapse backwards before he got anywhere.

“Nasha?” He gasped when she didn’t move, just stayed deflated on top of him.  “Nasha? Nasha?”

Words escaped him as he reached to adjust her face, turned down and away from him at the moment, and his fingers brushed blood on her back.

Fuck, no, no, no.

“NASHA!”

Trembling hands forced her to look at him and his heart stuttered to a halt at her dim  brown eyes and slack jaw. Except unlike hers, his heart scrambled back to work a moment later. Hers stayed deflated and useless and silent and fucking _dead_.

“No, no, no...” He mumbled and her blood on his fingers made it difficult to find the pulse in her neck. So difficult in fact that he couldn’t find it at all.

“Nasha, c’mon, wake up, please wake up.”

Tears or blood, he didn’t know or care which, dribbled down his cheeks when she didn’t respond, didn’t laugh at him for worrying or offer an exhausted smile to reassure him or just fucking move. That’s all he needed, just something to disprove the evidence building in his head that pointed to _gone, gone, gone._

“NASHA!”

The blood gushing across his torso, his and Nasha’s, blurred his vision when he screamed and spun the world so the lights from the house seared his eyes from all directions and he dropped his head against the deck so he could hide from the nausea and horror freezing his blood.

But even without empty eyes (not empty, he thought, Nasha’s eyes were never empty; they always sparkled at him with hazel flecks and lit up his whole world when she laughed), Mac still felt vomit crawling up the back of his throat and the pain in his chest from the bullet hole couldn’t compare to the agony clawing apart his heart.

Fuck, the shooter might as well have put a bullet in his heart too.

Mac wished they had.

No, he thought, don’t give up, don’t give up, not yet.

The blood was just making it hard to find a pulse. She was just unconscious and his own blood loss had drained his brain of rational thought.

They would be fine. They just needed help.

Mac scrambled for his phone in his jacket pocket and exhaled with relief when he finally found the device. But the exhale turned into half a scream and half a sob when pain electrocuted his mind.

“Hang on, Nasha.” He gasped while fumbling for his password. “Hold on, just gonna call Jack and everything’ll be okay… like you said.”

She stayed silent and Mac jammed his finger against the speakerphone button so he could rest his head on the deck and leave the phone at his side.

Exhaustion rumbled in his muscles now that he had help on the way. Jack had just dropped him off a few minutes ago and he’d keep them safe. That was Jack after all. Jack was protection against bullets and dark thoughts and everything else.

“Hey, man.” Jack said once he answered the call. “You forget somethin’? How’s Nasha doing? I left a six pack in the fridge if-.”

“Jack!” Mac interrupted and wished better words would stumble into his brain because the ones he had didn’t make any sense. “Uh, she’s not... not moving and I can’t... there’s too much blood and I can’t find a pulse but...”

Car tires squealing responded along with a string of swears and Mac almost cried with relief.

“Gonna be okay, Nasha.” He whispered to his girlfriend, rubbing his fingers against her spine. “Jack’s comin’. It’ll be fine, just hang in there.”

“Mac, talk to me.” Jack growled from the phone. “Are you hit? Is the shooter gone? Are you still at the house?”

“Uh...” Mac’s thoughts huddled together and he couldn’t remember Jack’s questions but he had said talk so Mac could do that. “The blood’s makin’ it tricky to find a pulse but she’s alive, she’s gonna be okay... she’s not movin’ but she’s gonna be fine, Jack.”

Mac shut his eyes when Jack swore again.

“It’s okay, Jack.” Mac reassured his friend. “It’s okay, she’s gonna be okay. She’s not... she’s gonna be okay.”

“Bud, I’m about to pull into your driveway. Where are you?” Jack said.

“Um...” Mac opened his eyes for a brief second and stared at the odd mixture of darkness and bright light in front of him. “Uh, lights. And dark.”

A door slammed shut over the phone and in real life.

“Jack?” Mac muttered, twisting to look at his phone but the ensuing pain ripped a scream out of his mouth.

Fortunately, Jack was back on the phone even before Mac opened his eyes.

“-ambulance at Mac’s house ASAP, Mattie.”

Mattie?

Mac blinked and stared at Jack, in the flesh, kneeling right next to him and Nasha.

“Jack, Nasha...” Mac mumbled.

“Yeah, I see her, bud.” Jack said and lifted Nasha off of him and lay her down next to Mac who reached for her hand but the cold in her fingers made him flinch away.

“Nasha?” He whispered and stared at the back of her head when she didn’t look at him.

Unconscious, he reminded himself. Just uncon-.

Pain from his chest jerked all thought away and his arm flew up to try and punch his assailant but a different hand batted his away and he didn’t have the energy to try again so he just screamed, hoping Jack would hear him.

“Sorry, Mac, I’m so sorry, but I gotta stop the bleeding.” Jack said and Mac realized his eyes were shut.

So, he opened them to blink at Jack’s pale face as he pressed something into Mac’s chest.

“No, Jack...” Mac growled. “Nasha, gotta... gotta help Nasha.”

“I’m so sorry, buddy but I can’t do anything for her right now.” Jack said and Mac stared.

Jack wasn’t dumb but maybe the panic slashed across his face was messing with his brain?

Mac tugged at one of Jack’s arms planted against Mac’s bullet wound.

“I’m fine... go help, Nasha.” He said and pulled harder when Jack ignored him. “Jack, stop!”

Mac struggled, writhing and flailing against Jack’s hands so he would get the fuck off Mac and go help Nasha who couldn’t bleed, not like Mac. She wasn’t allowed to bleed and hurt and cry like him. The pain from his chest dulled his senses so he shouted to explain his thinking to Jack, who just had to be panicked and worried like the helicopter parent he was and not thinking straight.

“STOP! NASHA! GO HELP NASHA!” Mac bellowed and twisted to try and get a foot into Jack’s stomach so his partner would stop fucking ignoring him and-.

“Mac, stop!” Jack snarled and Mac froze at the tears on Jack’s face. “I can’t help Nasha, okay? She’s dead, Mac. She was dead before I got here and you’ll be dead soon too if you don’t stop fucking moving!”

Mac deflated and shut his eyes.

Jack was wrong. Jack had to be wrong. He had just missed her pulse like Mac because of the blood on his hands.

But Mac had seen Jack find someone’s pulse with his hands soaked in blood, sometimes his own. And Jack knew death better than Mac. Knew bullets and gunshot wounds and kill shots better than Mac and if he said Nasha...

“No.” Mac whispered and used his free hand to snatch Nasha’s icy hand. “Nasha? Nasha, wake up, please wake up...”

Nasha’s silence drowned out the sirens, Jack shouting Mac’s name, the thud of Mac’s heart against his chest, and the faint worry in his head as darkness overwhelmed his vision.

It drowned Mac too.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 164 days after Nasha's death, Mac's in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: HEAVY DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE/SUICIDAL IDEATION. Take care of yourselves, guys.   
> This is even more AU in that Murdoc did not return to Phoenix with Mac at the end of 3x06. He also killed Nasha in the last chapter. 
> 
> Less important:  
> I'm sorry it took so long to post chapter 2-hopefully, the fact this is pretty long helps make up for that???   
> Anyway, I wrote 3 or 4 different endings for this story but none of them seemed to fit well. I actually wrote this chapter as a totally separate story before I wrote chapter 1 of this story. I had to adapt some stuff and I'm hoping I caught all any plot holes but let me know if I didn't! Thanks!  
> I have not yet seen the second half of season 3 because school so anything that happened after Jack left is a mystery to me at this point.

Mac sipped his cup of coffee with a book open on his lap. He turned a page every so often but hadn’t read a word of the paperback he stole from a woman’s purse earlier that morning. 

Yesterday, he had sat at the cafe a couple stores down the street. Today, his last day at this particular location, he had decided to take a gamble and planted himself on the bench directly across the street from ‘The Killer Toy Shop’. 

He glanced up when Veronica Blazer, the woman he’d been tracking down and then monitoring for the past week, strolled up and unlocked the front door. She had been working there part-time for the last five years after she moved to London for school. She should graduate next year with a degree in Latin and biology. Not that Mac cared much about anyone’s future at this point. 

Finish the job, he thought when his stomach rolled and his eyes burned. 

Focus.

Everything else comes second. 

Blazer flicked the lights on in the store, illuminating an extravagant train set in the front window and colorful toys peeking out from behind it. 

Mac snorted. 

Murdoc had bought Cassian an identical train set from ‘The Killer Toy Shop’ five years ago for Christmas. Since then, he had bought at least four other presents for his son from the small shop that didn’t even have a website. 

After a little digging and a few carefully asked questions, Mac knew the reason why Murdoc favored this particular store was setting up a small sign out on the sidewalk with bright red balloons attached. Veronica Blazer’s father, Harrison Murdoc, died when someone shot him in the head while driving home over twenty years ago. An accountant with one child, Harrison spent too much time at work and mostly ignored Veronica’s existence, who lived with her mother on the other side of the country. Mac still had no clue why the Murdoc he knew had killed Harrison but he couldn’t ignore the obvious connection between Veronica Blazer and Nasha’s killer. 

Mac had to admit Murdoc hid his tracks well. It had taken days of digging through records at Cassian’s school in Switzerland, studying various incoming packages, before Mac figured out which ones mostly likely came from Murdoc. After that discovery, he had traveled to three different cities before connecting the gifts back to ‘The Killer Toy Shop’ and Veronica Blazer. 

He half-wondered if Murdoc had picked the store for its name to amuse himself or to spook anyone who tried to hunt him down. 

Not that Mac cared much. 

He had given up on solving the puzzle of Murdoc after the bastard left a condolence card in Mac's hospital room as confirmation that he murdered Nasha and put a bullet in Mac's chest. 

Mac clenched his eyes shut for a moment to force the screaming in head back into its lock box.

Finish the job. 

Focus. 

Everything else comes second. 

After several deep breaths, Mac took another sip of coffee and flipped another page. 

“Whatcha reading, hoss?” 

Steaming liquid burned Mac’s throat when he choked. It splattered across the book in his lap. The dark splashes glowed against the pale paper… like Nasha’s blood on Mac’s hands. 

No, no, no.

Finish the mission.

Focus.

Everything else comes second. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He snarled at Jack, who stood over him with his hands on his hips like he had caught Mac sneaking a cookie before dinner. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack said and then nodded at the ruined book that Mac shook out to get rid of some of the coffee. “Sorry about the book, man.” 

“It’s not mine,” Mac muttered before tossing it on the bench next to him. 

Jack snorted, shoved the book to the side, and then plopped down, arms stretched out along the back of the bench and casual grin in place. 

“I gotta say,” he said, “I love the British accent. Especially when they swear, it’s so-.”

“What are you doing here?” Mac repeated through a clenched jaw. “I told you I was fine and needed space.”

“Uh, actually, you told me you were going back to Nigeria to bury Nasha and you’d punch me if I tried to follow you,” Jack said and then waved a hand at the street in front of them. “This isn’t Nigeria.” 

“I wasn’t lying about the punching apart,” Mac said. “You need to go.” 

“Oh, I believe you about the punching thing, man,” Jack said. “I didn’t at the time but then Mattie got a report about some of Cassian’s friends being kidnapped and strapped to a bomb. The kidnapper must have been out of his mind.” 

Mac glared at his shoes. 

“He used some sort of voice-altering program while threatening to kill these _kids_ if they didn’t answer his questions.” 

Finish the job. 

Focus. 

Everything else comes second. 

“Riley did her thing and sent me a sample,” Jack continued, casual as can be, and slid his phone out of his pocket. In moments, Mac’s own voice slithered into his ears. 

“-or the bomb will detonate. The force of the explosion will shatter most of the bones in your body, most likely puncturing multiple organs. But you’ll die almost immediately from the burns. When you’re that close to the explosion, it’s doubtful anybody will recognize your body without dental records or a DNA comparison.” 

Jack stopped the recording when Mac sprang to his feet and threw up in the nearby trash can. 

Their screams, begging him to stop, to let them live, to bring them home, mixed with other screaming in his head.

Mac shook his head and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 

“Did Mattie send you to bring me in then?” 

He pretended to ignore the flash of betrayal on Jack’s face. 

“No,” Jack said. “Mostly because the police found those kids ten minutes after the kidnapper left, unharmed, and attached to a couple pounds of homemade Playdough, old wires that weren’t connected to anything, and duct tape.” 

Mac nodded and stalked forward a few steps to snatch his usual leather bag off the ground. He kept walking and didn’t look back except to call over his shoulder,

“Go home, Jack. I don’t want you here.” 

Mac kept his head down for the next couple blocks, reciting his mantra over and over again to settle the choked sobs in his chest. 

Finish the job.

Focus. 

Everything else-.

“Did you even go to Nigeria?” Jack said as he slipped out of an alleyway and matched Mac’s walking pace. “We lost track of you a few times. Honestly, the only reason we found you this time is you looked up at the exact wrong second and photobombed some girl’s selfie she posted on Instagram yesterday.” 

Mac shook his head and walked faster. 

“I’m going to take that as a no then,” Jack said, keeping up with ease. “You look like shit by the way. Not that I am surprised but I don’t know if I’ve seen you this bad before. I can’t tell if those circles under your eyes are from exhaustion or someone’s fist. You know, I-.”

Mac spun on one foot and shoved Jack in the chest. 

Hard. 

Hard enough to send him stumbling back into a crowd of pedestrians and then slam into the brick wall behind him. 

“Go back to California,” Mac said. “I don’t care what game you’re trying to play here. Just stay the fuck away from me.” 

He spun away and kept walking, careful to stuff his trembling hands into his coat pockets.

Jack didn’t bother waiting to catch up with him this time. 

“I know you mean what you’re saying, Mac,” he announced and didn’t even hesitate to follow Mac when the latter jumped out into the middle of traffic to jaywalk. They crossed the street amidst screeching horns and a lot of cursing. 

“I know you want me to leave you alone.” 

Mac wished he had planned his route better. He had led them to a less crowded sidewalk where Jack could walk next to him with ease. 

“I also know you’re not coping. Hell, you’re not even trying to cope. You’re waging a war against that bastard and casualties don’t matter.” 

Everything else comes second. 

“I’d be doing the same thing if I were in your shoes,” Jack said and grabbed Mac’s arm to jerk him to a stop. 

Mac’s fist cackled with delight as it exploded across Jack’s face. The burst of pain across his knuckles felt so different from what he’d been feeling for the last 164 days that Mac almost threw another punch. 

Instead, he rammed his throbbing hand back into his pocket and kept walking, now struggling to control his breathing. 

Jack’s footsteps roared in Mac’s ears. 

Goddammit, Jack.

He twisted around before Jack could catch up. His mouth snapped open to say something, an insult or threat that might deter Jack from following him. But the words caught on the mountain in his throat and he had to settle for launching a venomous glare at his partner instead. 

Former partner, Mac thought. He had quit before he left Los Angeles. 

“Except you’re wearing your shoes, not mine,” Jack said quietly with blood leaking out of his mouth. “And you hate war and you care about every single casualty, no matter what. So, yeah, you may not want me anywhere near you. But you need me right now.” 

Mac grinned and shook his head, grateful the lump in his throat faded. 

“No. I need to find Murdoc. On my own. That’s it.” 

Jack stepped forward and Mac stumbled back. 

“Stop,” he hissed. “Stop trying to save me from whatever you think is happening. I don’t need saving.” 

Jack raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re killing yourself, bud. You’re trying to catch Murdoc while running on fumes without backup or Phoenix to pick him up. That’s suicide, dude.”

Mac snorted and adjusted his glare to a shard of broken glass peeking out from a patch of grass next to the sidewalk. 

“What’s the plan?” Jack continued. “Drop him off at the nearest police station? Or watch him for hours until Mattie sends a team? Do you even have those fancy handcuffs Phoenix gave us to trap him last time?” 

A laugh drilled its way through Mac’s mouth. Then, he waited for slimy blood to tickle down his throat because the laughter had sported edges sharp enough to shred his insides apart on its way out.

Unfortunately, the taste of bitter coffee in his mouth remained lonely. 

“No, Jack,” Mac finally sighed and kicked at the ground with one boot. “I don’t have any handcuffs, alright? And tell Mattie she doesn’t need to worry about picking him up.” 

He walked away before Jack caught up with his plan. Mac didn’t need to see the disappointment written all over Jack’s face. He could feel it in the air, pummeling the fortress of single-minded focus he had constructed before leaving Los Angeles. 

Mac didn’t even lift his hand to hit Jack when the other man grabbed his shoulder. The urge slithered all the way down his arm to curl his fingers but the exhaustion humming in bones made any unnecessary movement seem pointless. He just wanted to go back to the flat he had broken into upon his arrival in Paris and crash for a couple hours before moving on to his next target. 

“Mac…” Jack said and Mac stared at the pavement between them. “Mac, you need to come home. You’re scarin’ me, man. This isn’t you. This isn’t even close to you.” 

“People change. Sorry to disappoint.” 

Jack’s grip tightened when Mac tried to pull away. 

“People do change,” he said. “But not like this. You don’t even want to do this, man. It’s written all over your face.” 

“Jack, there is nothing I want more than to kill Murdoc in cold blood.” 

Mac met his former partner’s concerned gaze with a neutral one of his own. 

Jack shook his head. 

“No. I don’t believe you. This is-.”

Tires squealed next to them. Mac’s vision spun a little when a black van skidded onto the curb. In seconds, a small army of thugs exploded out of the vehicle. Mac only had about a second to think before one of them swung a fist at his head. 

The ensuing fight lasted seconds, not minutes. He and Jack were so thoroughly outnumbered Mac didn’t even see the blow to the back of his head before darkness overwhelmed his brain. 

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Mac groaned as thoughts filtered through the pain throbbing in his skull. 

Veronica Blazer, coffee, punching Jack, a van…

“That son of a bitch...” he growled under his breath. 

His chest seized under the pressure that slammed into him at the thought of Nasha’s killer. 

“Hello, Angus.” 

Mac snapped his head up to find Murdoc’s grin mere inches from his face. His instinct to lean away died under the fury blazing through his veins. Instead, he threw his head forward. The crunch of Murdoc’s nose should have soothed the ache in his chest, but if anything, it just sparked more numbness to infest his thoughts. 

Shifting his weight told Mac the metal chair beneath him was bolted to the cement floor. A circle of flood lights around him blocked his view of anything beyond the thick darkness encircling him. The harsh lighting sparked tears in his eyes (or maybe that was the memory of Nasha grinning at him seconds before Murdoc shot her). He still kept his head up, continuing to squint at the darkness for some clue or tool or... anything at this point. 

Meanwhile, Murdoc stumbled back and laughed while wiping at the blood gushing down his face with a black glove. 

“I like the new you, Angus,” he crowed. “I told you we were more alike than you thought!” 

“Leave him alone, you bastard!” Jack yelled from the darkness on Mac’s right. 

“Oh no, no, no,” Murdoc said and a wide grin crawled across his lips. “Boy Genius and I have some unfinished business to attend to... Tell me, did you enjoy your reunion with Nasha?” 

Mac threw himself forward, straining against the restraints with a wordless shout.

“I knew you would,” Murdoc chuckled. “You have excellent taste in women, Angus. Nasha certainly rose to the occasion during our brief interaction. I haven’t been so thoroughly insulted in a long time.” 

Don’t play his game. Don’t lose control. 

Finish the job. 

Focus. 

Everything else comes second. 

Mac leaned back in the chair and exhaled heavily through his nose, bundling his anger ( _ ~~fear, hurt, despair, guilt~~_ ) and shoving it aside. Murdoc just watched and licked his lips once Mac finally settled down. 

“Delightful,” Murdoc said. “You have a remarkable talent for compartmentalization. It’s exquisite, really.” 

Mac snorted.

“What do you want?” Jack snarled from the darkness. 

Murdoc giggled.

“You are a funny man, Angus,” Murdoc said instead of responding to Jack. “When I heard about the incident with Cassian’s friends, I laughed harder than I have in decades. The fake bomb, the empty threats… I got ahold of the recording and oh my God! What fun! You were born to kill, weren’t you? Best of all, it wasn’t even an act. If you hadn’t spent years brainwashing yourself into _saving_ lives, you would have gotten your information and blown those innocent children to smithereens.” 

Mac snorted and shook his head. He didn’t trust himself not to scream if he opened his mouth to talk. 

Finish the job. 

Focus. 

Everything else comes second. 

His eyes danced around the circle, still hunting for a potential weapon. His bag was missing, along with his knife, but maybe he could break free once Murdoc left and-.

“Oh, don’t lie to me, MacGyver,” Murdoc said and stepped forward, bending down to meet Mac’s venomous glare. “If you thought I would care if you hurt Cassian by killing those boys, you absolutely would have done it.” 

Mac forced himself to maintain his glower. 

But he couldn’t stop the heat that crept across his face. 

He had spent hours debating the decision. Murdoc clearly cared somewhat for Cassian. But was it enough for him to react if Mac hurt his son emotionally by murdering his friends? 

Ultimately, Mac had concluded the only way to hurt Murdoc enough to lure him out of hiding was to threaten Cassian’s physical wellbeing. Killing those boys probably would have just entertained the bastard (and destroyed Mac, but he shoved that thought aside. He had shattered 164 days ago anyway). 

“He blushes!” Murdoc laughed. 

Mac dropped his head when he realized Jack could hear them. 

“I was right; Boy Genius is just as twisted as I thought!”

Mac winced when Jack didn’t rush to his defense. 

Finish the job. 

Focus. 

Everything else comes second. 

Maybe Murdoc could read minds. Or maybe Mac’s face betrayed his hurt at Jack’s silence. Either way, he tilted his head at Mac and sneered, 

“Does your beloved partner know your plan? Did you tell him you were going to kill me?” 

Mac took several deep breaths to calm down. 

Murdoc couldn’t know the rest of it. Mac hadn’t told _anyone_. 

“I’m sure he figured it out, judging from your rampage across the globe, tracking down leads related to my son, trying to lure me out of hiding.” 

“He was huntin’ _you_ down, you psycho,” Jack said. “Mac’s not stupid enough to let you kidnap him just so he can… Oh fuck.” 

Mac sighed when Jack’s gaze burned through the darkness to laser in on his head. 

“You and I are having a long chat when we get home,” Jack growled. 

Murdoc smiled at Mac and adopted a faux whisper. 

“Should I tell him about the rest of it or do you want to do the honors?” 

Mac made a show of rolling his eyes, despite the roaring nausea in his stomach. 

He couldn’t worry about anything else except finishing the mission. Murdoc was standing six feet in front of him and Mac needed to kill him. 

Mac shifted his arms again, testing the metal chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles. His breathing stuttered when the restraints didn’t budge, despite his best attempts. 

“Good point, Angus,” Murdoc said when he noticed Mac’s struggles and twisted away from him. “We should get this show on the road. I’m sure those restraints are awfully uncomfortable.” 

Mac’s clenched jaw slipped open to fling out some sort of scathing retort. But then Murdoc turned around with a baseball bat swinging between the killer’s fingers. 

The whole world froze. 

Shit, shit, shit…

Murdoc smiled and took a practice swing. Mac flinched at the hum of the bat slicing through the air. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Jack growled. 

“Warming up for my at-bat,” Murdoc drawled. “I’m ready to hit a grand slam and I know MacGyver is kind enough to help me out.” 

Out, he needed to get out right now...

Mac jerked away from his chair on instinct, praying the chains would somehow break. The blunt force trauma of one solid hit to his head or ribs would kill him before he killed Murdoc. Somewhere in the distance, Jack yelled but the sound of his usual barrage of insults and threats faded under the adrenaline shrieking in Mac’s blood. 

Mac’s focus zeroed in on Murdoc’s shoes as they danced closer to him. His attempts to break free turned desperate. 

A scream built in his throat. 

He clamped down on his bottom lip to keep himself silent when Murdoc stopped just a few feet in front of him with his front shoulder pointed toward Mac like the blond was the pitcher. 

Or the ball. 

Murdoc brought the bat up and adjusted his fingers around the handle. Mac swallowed hard, dragging a scowl across his face. He would not shut his eyes, would not lurch away, and would not give an inch to this bastard. 

Murdoc took another practice swing, slowly bringing the bat forward so it brushed against Mac’s bangs at the point of contact. 

“Batter up,” Murdoc whispered. 

Mac held his breath when Murdoc resumed his earlier stance. Memories of softball games on the Phoenix team invaded Mac’s mind. It might have been a stupid set of last thoughts but the warmth from Jack shouting at him to keep running while Riley and Bozer cheered in the background calmed the building rebellion in his stomach. 

At least he wouldn’t throw up on himself right before he died. 

Mac ignored the bat when it sliced through the air and focused his glare on Murdoc’s gleaming, black eyes instead.

Agony exploded through his whole body and a scream ripped apart his throat, finally drenching his taste buds with the taste of his own bitter blood.

 

Mac woke up screaming so loud that his back arched off the floor. His legs had to be on fire. There was no other explanation for the excruciating pain crawling from his shins up to his knees. 

At least it would be over quick, right? The smoke inhalation should kill him soon and then the pain would disappear forever. Mac would finally, finally stop thinking and breathing and moving and-

“Mac! Mac, it’s okay! Just.. just try to breathe!” 

Jack. 

Fuck, he needed to save Jack. 

No, wait… he needed to kill Murdoc. 

Finish the job. 

Focus. 

Everything else comes second. 

Mac’s head twisted back and forth as he struggled to breathe. He stopped when his cheek slammed into the mercifully cool cement. 

“Can you hear me, bud?”

Mac tried to respond but he had to fight to keep his stomach under control first. He would suffocate if he threw up while lying on his back and rolling onto his side for any reason, even to stay alive, would be too painful to even try. 

His eyes slipped open of their own accord and watered at the harsh lighting surrounding them. ‘Them’ because the lights separating him from Jack remained dark and his former partner stared at him, strapped to a chair with all too familiar chains. 

Jack grinned but it shivered and died way too soon. 

“Hey, good to see you awake, dude.” 

“Yeah,” Mac breathed. “Uh, what… what happened?” 

Jack’s face darkened in a way Mac hadn’t seen in a long time. Guilt rampaged through his veins. He didn’t deserve Jack caring about him. He had sunk too far into the darkness crowding his mind to earn any such kindness. 

“Murdoc bashed your legs to bits with that fucking bat,” Jack growled. “Then, he knocked me out. By the time I woke up, he had already moved the lights around and left you on the fucking floor.” 

Mac nodded and picked his head up to check on his legs. A glimpse of the bloody, mangled limbs extending away from him with bits of bone peering through his skin sent the world spinning around him. He immediately flopped back down against the cement. 

“Need to… uh, need to get outta here.” 

Shock would set in soon, if it hadn’t already. It would kill him long before anything else. At least, he thought it would. All the facts about blunt force trauma and broken bones taunted him outside the reach of his memory. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jack said and nodded at something on Mac’s other side. “Murdoc left you your bag. Not sure you should open it or not though.” 

Mac frowned at his familiar satchel, lying just within reach when he stretched his arm as far as it could go. His fingers scrabbled for a hold, brushing against the soft leather without actually grabbing anything. Tears slipped out of his eyes and each one sent tremors all the way down his body. 

Or maybe that was the pain in his legs. 

“Mac, stop! You’re hurting your-.” 

“Got… got it.” 

Mac dragged the bag toward him but kept his fingers clenched around the handle. If he let go, it could drift off and disappear into the dark and then all the pain and blood would be for nothing and… and… and… and fuck, why was it so cold in here?

The very back of his brain registered the violent shivers crawling through his body as a sign of something bad. 

Not right now. He needed to… needed to… focus? Something like that. 

So, he ignored the warning bells in his head and reached for the clasp. 

“Mac, don’t open it,” Jack said. “Who knows what he put in there? Could be rigged to blow for all we know.” 

Mac twisted toward Jack to roll his eyes.

“We don’t have a lot of options right now, Jack.” 

Jack just chuckled. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothin’ man,” Jack said. “Just glad to see the regular you make an appearance.” 

Mac didn’t know what to make of that comment so he huffed and then flipped his bag open. 

“What sort of treasures do you have in there? Empty granola bar wrappers? Some baking soda?” 

Mac frowned, pawing through the contents for a minute before relaxing. 

“All the stuff that was in there this morning is still here,” he said. “Murdoc didn’t add or remove anything.” 

“What? You sure?” 

Mac nodded and rummaged through the bag based on touch alone, flinching when his fingers brushed metal. But he recovered as fast as he could and continued hunting until he wrapped his hand around the familiar curve of his pocket knife. 

“Got my knife.” 

But what the hell could he do with his knife? 

“Hold on, bud,” Jack said. “You’re not moving until I get out of this chair and carry you to the nearest hospital.” 

Mac opened his mouth to ask how Jack planned on escaping. Whistling from the darkness collapsed his words into a shudder instead.

Somehow, the temperature dropped another fifteen degrees. 

Murdoc sauntered into the light and stood over Mac with a frown. 

“Those legs don’t look too good, Angus,” he said with a wink. “You should go see a doctor pronto.” 

Mac glared in response but Murdoc just laughed to himself and stepped over Mac to leer at Jack. 

“Have a nice nap, Jackie-boy?” 

“Not really,” Jack snarled. “But if you undo these chains, I’ll snap your neck and then I’ll sleep real good tonight.” 

Murdoc shook his head. 

“Not today. Maybe next week. My schedule is a little crazy right now. For today…”

He tossed his head at Mac. 

“Boy Genius is going to decide how the rest of today goes. But I’m afraid my death isn’t an option.” 

“Oh really?” Jack said with a dark grin. “Because I’m sure nobody would care if we added it onto the list.” 

“Pass,” Murdoc said and then grinned at Mac. “I’ll make the rules simple for you, Angus. I’m sure pain is slowing down that magnificent brain of yours just a smidge.” 

“Go to hell,” Mac snapped and even struggled to push himself upright but collapsed back on the floor with a muffled shout. 

“Hm, I would stay still if I were you. Just a suggestion,” Murdoc said. “Anway, here’s the deal; either you kill yourself or I kill Jack.” 

Mac stared. 

Murdoc chuckled.

Jack yelled. 

First at Murdoc and then at Mac, trying to force him to make a promise they both knew Mac wouldn’t make or keep. 

Did Murdoc know about the rest of Mac’s plan? 

“How?” He said, no longer even bothering to pay attention to Jack. 

Murdoc nodded at Mac’s bag.

“You know how,” he said with a wide smile. “As to how I knew about this part of your plan… I know you better than you think, Angus. We are, after all, two sides of the same coin and all that jazz.” 

“What part of his plan?” Jack said and flipped his gaze between Mac and Murdoc. “What the fuck are you two talking about?” 

Murdoc chuckled and raised an eyebrow at Mac. 

“I can’t wait until he figures it out,” he said. 

“What’s stopping me from killing you?” Mac said as his hand gripped the gun hidden in his bag. Maybe if he pulled it out fast enough and forced the feeling of ‘wrong, wrong, wrong’ wailing in his chest away, he could shoot Murdoc before-. 

Of course, Murdoc lifted a hand out of his pocket and wiggled a dead man’s switch at Mac. 

“You shoot me and we all go ‘boom’.” 

“Shoot you?” Jack echoed and twisted to gape at Mac. “Do you have a…?” 

The gun in his hand weighed a ton (he had always suspected the gravitational pull on firearms was higher than normal) but he lifted it high in the air anyway. Numbness flooded Jack’s face. Mac swallowed hard at the betrayal in his eyes. 

Too far gone, he thought. 

“So, do we have a deal, Angus?” Murdoc said, drawing Mac’s attention away from Jack’s pale face. 

Murdoc had his own gun out now, aimed at Jack’s forehead. Mac’s finger slipped into place around the trigger out of instinct. 

Finish the job. 

Focus. 

Everything else comes second. 

Mac shut his eyes, wishing he could force himself to debate his options. 

Yes, he could shoot Murdoc, detonate the bomb, and finish the job. 

He had mastered the art of lying to himself a long time ago and only strengthened the skill in the last 164 days. Just look at what he did to Cassian’s friends. 

But the mere idea of even trying to convince himself that Jack came second to anything else, mission or otherwise, tugged a weak smile and a tear across his face.

People might change, but Jack’s importance above all else never would. 

Mac opened his eyes to glare at Murdoc, whose grin only widened. 

“Don’t you dare do this, pal...” Jack warned. 

“Deal,” Mac said. 

His voice should have wavered in the face of looming death. Maybe 164 days ago it would have. But his plan had changed since then. Admittedly, Murdoc was supposed to die before him. Still, Mac’s whole life had depended on improvisation and adaptability. It seemed fitting his death would too.

“NO!” Jack bellowed. “Mac, stop! Don’t do this to me! Don’t you fucking dare!” 

Murdoc twisted his arm to glance at his watch. 

“I’ll give you a minute to pull the trigger, Angus,” he said. “The agony in Jack’s face right now is too delicious to cut off too quickly.” 

Mac ignored him in favor of taking a deep breath and then offered a small smile to Jack. 

Jack, who looked ready to throttle him and Murdoc as he strained against the chains holding him in place. 

“Mac, you can’t, okay? Just wait, you just need to wait until I get us outta here. Just… please hold on. Please, don’t do this. I’m beggin’ you, man. It’s gonna be fine, you just gotta give me a minute.” 

“It’s okay, Jack,” Mac said and tried for another smile but it withered before it even began. “This isn’t your fault; I’m the one who tried to get caught. I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. I should have tried harder to get away from you once you found me this morning.” 

Because he hadn’t tried that hard. Not really. Not when Jack’s presence had shattered Mac’s assumption his former partner hated him.

However, he had a horrible suspicion that Murdoc might torture Jack after Mac killed himself. He very much doubted Murdoc would kill him outright though. He would want to prolong Jack’s pain as long as possible. 

“Shut up!” Jack growled but desperate tears glimmered in his eyes.

“Thirty seconds,” Murdoc sang.

Jack spat at his shoes. 

“Rude, Jackie boy. Besides, I’m just speeding up the timeline a little, aren’t I, Angus?” 

Mac shut his eyes. He had hoped Murdoc would keep his mouth shut. At least until Mac died so Mac himself wouldn’t have to see the betrayal in Jack’s face multiply exponentially. 

“Mac, ignore him,” Jack said. “Don’t do this. You gotta trust me a little, okay? Don’t… please don’t kill yourself.” 

Murdoc outright laughed. 

“You really think this wasn’t part of the original plan, Jack?” He said. “You think Angus was going to just go home after he broke himself so thoroughly in order to avenge sweet Nasha? Go back to being best buds and saving the world at Phoenix? No, don’t be ridiculous. That gun was never meant for just me.” 

Mac’s finger twitched on the trigger. Might as well die before seeing Jack’s expression right then. Mac already hurt too much. If the pain got any worse… well, then maybe he wouldn’t need the gun after all. 

“Mac, what’s… what’s he talking about?” Jack whispered.

Mac winced at his former partner’s shattered voice. He forced himself to look at him though. Jack had earned more than that, a lot more than that, but Mac could at least have the decency to look him in the eye one last time.

Blood trickled down his wrists from his fight against the chains. His flushed skin combined with the jerking, harsh movement of his chest made him look like he had just finished running a marathon. 

But his expression… Jack looked at Mac like he had never met him before. Worse, he looked at Mac like he was some sort of freak. 

“Sorry, big guy,” Mac breathed and turned his face away from Jack while lifting the gun to his chin. 

Jack did not not need to watch a bullet tear through Mac’s face. 

“NO!” Jack thundered. “NO! MAC, STOP!” 

“Ten seconds,” Murdoc laughed with sparkling eyes. “Time to pull the trigger, Boy Genius.” 

Mac steadied his shaky hand with a deep breath. Asense of peace seeped into his bones. He couldn’t help the sense of relief that flooded his brain when he realized that while he hadn’t killed Murdoc, at least his suicide wouldn’t be a complete waste. Saving Jack was really the best way he could go. 

The soft click of his fingers turning the safety off echoed louder in his ears than Jack’s screams beside him, begging him to stop, to wait, to let Jack die. 

Like that was ever even an option. 

“Six seconds,” Murdoc called.

Somewhere, mixed in with all the calculations and estimations of the damage the bullet would do to his skull, Mac paused to consider the irony of this whole disaster. After years of risking his life and arguing with every superior he met by refusing to shoot a gun, Mac would finally pull a trigger as his last act on Earth.

“Five…”

Maybe it wasn’t irony as much as punishment. Mac had never wanted this as his end. But he hadn’t wanted Nasha to die. Or Jill. Or his mom. Or Harry. Or any of a thousand other things. 

“Four…”

Jack sounded really upset now. Hopefully Riley would take care of him. She might be pissed too. God knows Bozer would attack Mac with one of his massive frying pans right about now if he could. 

“Three…” 

Mac’s finger settled on the trigger and the cool metal soothed the last of his ruffled nerves. 

“Two…” 

Fuck, he really did always cut it close, didn’t he? 

“One…” 

Mac’s finger twitched just as an explosion rocked the whole building.

Sunlight drilled into his eyes, splashing the tears hiding there across his face. 

Gunfire roared in his ears… the pain in his legs skyrocketed until his consciousness threatened to run away... Yelling, so much fucking yelling... why couldn’t they just let Mac die in peace? He was sick of all the fighting and blood and noise. 

Then, it stopped. Like it had never been there at all. 

Mac’s brain rumbled back to life, trying to sift through all the erratic thoughts bouncing around inside his skull.

Jack was going to murder Mac.

Murdoc had to still be around somewhere...

Would Jack strangle him?

Fuck, his legs hurt...

Maybe Jack would beat him to death with a baseball bat like Murdoc? But Jack liked football. Maybe he would just suffocate Mac with his Cowboys Snuggie. Jack loved that thing and he... 

Oh fuck, he couldn’t hear Jack and Jack always talked, Jack never stopped talking, he never, ever shut up, so why couldn’t Mac fucking hear him?

“JACK!” 

Mac twisted, hunting for his friend through the mass of moving bodies that had flooded the room. Boots blocked his vision but he could still pick out blood pooling on the floor across from him. Yelling hurt but not nearly as much the terror that Jack...

“JACK!” 

He couldn’t see him… why couldn’t he see him? 

“JACK!” 

Mac’s name registered in his ears but it sounded wrong. Not drawn out long enough. Not Jack. 

He needed Jack. He needed Jack alive and breathing and okay and overflowing with bad jokes and scientific inaccuracies and dumb movie references and-. 

“JACK! JACK, PLEASE!” 

Tears blurred his vision. His chest heaved to keep up with the frantic gasps leaping out of his mouth.

No, Jack was not… he couldn’t… 

Mac clenched his eyes shut and one hand curled into a fist. The other froze the second he realized he still had his fingers wrapped around the trigger of the gun that hadn’t yet left its spot under his chin. 

His finger tightened just a little, not enough to launch the bullet into his brain but enough that the possibility of relief swelled in his thoughts. 

Cleary, Phoenix would take care of Murdoc. Bozer, Riley, and Mattie would be fine without him. Because without Jack, Mac had no use for staying alive. The consuming exhaustion that had been chasing him for months now would finally get the chance to sink its fangs into his flesh and drag him-. 

“Bud, look at me.” 

Mac had never obeyed an order so quickly in his life. 

Jack grinned at him with red-rimmed eyes and brushed Mac’s bangs out of his face with trembling fingers. 

“Jack…” 

The rush of oxygen and Jack’s reappearance blurred Mac’s vision and he deflated against the cement. When, the gun faded from his hand, a whine escaped his mouth at the loss. Not that it mattered much anymore. Jack was alive, Jack was okay, Jack was alive…

“No, don’t give me any of that bullshit. You don’t need it, alright?”

Mac blinked a couple times, clearing the tears distorting Jack’s face. 

“...okay?” 

“Yeah, dude, I’m fine,” Jack chuckled and wiped a few runaway tears off Mac’s face. “Except my dumb partner didn’t listen to me today. I told you to wait, didn’t I? Jack’s always right, dude. You gotta remember that.” 

“Sorry,” Mac said, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for because he didn’t regret trying to save Jack’s life and everything else still made sense in his head, even if part of him knew it didn’t. “Sorry, I… I didn’t… didn’t want to hurt you.” 

Jack sighed and glanced at the paramedics yelling around them.

“I know, man,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later. After we ditch this hellhole and get you some bandaids for your legs.” 

Mac nodded just in time for pain to his brain. He didn’t realize he screamed or kept screaming until Jack’s hand tightened around his cheek. 

“Okay, bud, just hang on...” 

Mac fought to breathe. 

“Pain meds will kick in in just a sec... You’re gonna be fine... There’s an ambulance outside waiting to take you to a hospital to get patched up.” 

Mac didn’t want to respond. His head hurt more than anything else now. But he needed to know something before he sunk into the warm darkness crawling up his legs. 

“Jack?” He mumbled and forced his eyes open to ask his question silently. 

Jack grinned at him and shook his head. 

“Of course, I’m coming with you, pal. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight for the next ten years at least, you’re crazy.” 

Mac frowned a little, not comprehending any of his words. But Jack ran his fingers through Mac’s hair. 

“Go to sleep, buddy. I’m not going anywhere.” 

That he could understand. 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone knows how to indent paragraphs on Ao3 and would be willing to share their wisdom, please do so!  
> Reviews are welcome and let me know if you would like to see a second chapter!  
> Thanks!


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